


An Eye For An Eye [Leaves the Whole World Blind]

by The_Cinderninja



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eye Trauma, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Present Tense, Protective Siblings, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cinderninja/pseuds/The_Cinderninja
Summary: Focused only on avenging their mother, Elladan and Elrohir have not stepped foot in Imladris in decades. Now injured and alone, their chance to return home may have passed them by.
Relationships: Elladan & Elrohir (Tolkien)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	An Eye For An Eye [Leaves the Whole World Blind]

Consciousness comes slowly to Elrohir. There is a familiar ache in his joints that comes from sleeping on the hard, damp ground, and he is aware of an equally familiar ache from his ribs where a number have broken. His head is too cloudy to count that number. He hears a voice, which sounds muffled, as though coming from far away. As his arms are pulled away from his limp body, head lulling forward against his chest, he is easily able to recognize the distant voice as his brother's. It would be difficult indeed to forget the voice of the one who has followed step in step, pestering him with that selfsame voice from the moment of their birth.

As rope is tied tightly around his writs, the fog in his head begins to clear, just enough to realize that his arms have been suspended between two trees, and if he focuses – really focuses – he can make out what Elladan's obnoxious voice is calling out.

“You there, snake eyes! Ai, no – not you, flat face. Ai, ugly, yes! There, I am speaking to all of you now. Hhg.” Elladan makes an odd strangled noise here followed a loud crow of delight, and a loud curse from one of the orcs. “'E bit me!”

“Rightly so! Rightly so!” There is another commotion, “Now look here, fat one! That's you! Get your greasy hands off him this instant!”

“Or you'll _what?_ ” The orc – yes... yes, that's what is holding onto Elrohir's arm, his vision clearing as well now and his memory coming back to him, and with it, he lifts his head up and gives his brother a sharp look. One that hopefully conveys a look of _what in Eru's name do you believe you are doing?_ Along with a healthy dose of _shut your mouth this instant before I come over there and strangle you myself._

“Or I will bite each and every one of you!” He shouts. “Untie me right now and I will take you all on!”

“Wit' no weapon?” The orc guffaws.

“Yes!” Elladan announces, stomping his own feet in the dirt as he scrambles about ineffectively against his captors. “I'll give you all the ole one two! Let me up and I'll show you! I'll show you right now!”

The orc turns to face him, but does not let go of Elrohir's arm. Rather, it trails it's truly greasy hand down his tattered sleeve and comes to rest on his chin, turning his face away so that he is no longer able to observe Elladan's antics, instead forced to look up at the orc's face.

“Hey!” comes Elladan's indignant shout, rising to the bait. “Stupid! I'm talking to you!” But he is ignored.

“Elladan-” Elrohir snaps back, well aware of what Elladan is attempting to do and not entirely approving. If this orc had chosen him, then so be it. He would not want to watch Elladan suffer anymore then Elladan wished to watch him, so he did not appreciate Elladan's determination to switch their roles. However, Elladan interrupts before he has time to be given a sound scolding.

 _“I do what I want! I am the oldest and I say they don't touch you!”_ Elladan begins to yell and stomp, switching to the Sindarin tongue so the orcs would not understand. This was, apparently, the wrong choice. The orc standing over Elrohir turn to him abruptly and with a gesture, the yrch holding Elladan back release him just in time for him to be backhanded in the face – hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground with several small cuts crossing his cheeks.

Not one to waste an opportunity, he scrambles to his feet not a moment later, only to be stopped by a hard steel boot in the centre of his back pressing him back firmly into the dirt. He snarls and writhes like a feral animal, twisting out from under the boot as three more orcs grab his arms and legs, delivering on his promise to bite any limb that drew close enough.

Elrohir, now abandoned in place, struggles against his own bonds helplessly as he watches them drag his twin towards him in the dirt. The yrch force Elladan to his knees across from Elrohir, where despite his hissing and spitting, he wore a victorious smirk and Elrohir knew this had been his intent all along. Elrohir glowers at him darkly, clearly expressing his displeasure from where they face each other. Elladan merely shrugs shamelessly before snapping his jaws at another orc hand as it draws his hair backwards away from his face. His eyes light with pleasure as the hand jolts backwards, startled.

The yrch discuss how short to cut his hair – a shame among 'civilized' elven society, humiliating, supposedly. As if he would care. To Elladan, it meant he had kept his brother safe. Therefor - “hah!” he interrups as the orc holding the knife prepares to slice his hair at his shoulders. “Is that all?” He demands. “Cut it shorter, cowards!” He tilts his head back as he laughs at them. A manic sound, pitched too high and too quick for an elf, he grins a toothy grin as he sees that they, the yrch, are unsettled by their captive. “Come on! All or nothing, right!?” He tilts his head again to the other side so the nearest orc – the one holding the knife, whom he had nearly bitten – can see the gleam in his eye as he grins at it. The orc staring at him and backs away slightly.

“Somethin' ain't right with that elf, boss.” It mutters, suddenly shoving the knife into 'fat one's hand's and backing away from Elladan, retreating to hover near Elrohir instead. Unfortunately, Elladan had a perfect vantage point to grin at it from there, and continued to make perfect, unbroken eye contact with the disturbed orc, grinning the entire time his hair was shorn.

 _“Elladan...”_ Elrohir mumbles uncertainly, and Elladan's eyes soften suddenly as his gaze shifts to his brother.

 _“Don't worry.”_ He reassures, manic light gone and voice all soft edges. _“'Tis only hair, Elrohir. It will grow back. This is not our first horse and pony show. You know I can handle whatever they throw at me.”_

Elrohir bites his lip unhappily but nods. He doesn't agree, and he doesn't like it, but there isn't any point in both of them being injured. They need at least one of them hale to be able to care for the other. This is why they had, long ago, agreed to take turns, when captured. And this was, technically, Elladan's turn to be the scapegoat. To draw attention. To be injured. Neither of them liked having to watch. But they had both agreed – for it meant that they both had the chance to then take the role upon themselves the next time, and to save their brother from it.

Elrohir's thoughts are interrupted as the yrch throw Elladan's hair to the ground and kick his back, knocking his face into the ground. The largest orc proceeding to step on the back of his skull, eliciting an ominous _crack_ ing sound. Elrohir cries out an involuntary warning yelp. “Stop!” He demands with force, trying to call upon the Power that his father taught was within him. He has little skill with words of power, however, for he never saw much reason to practice such a skill when he had his swords. “Stop! You'll kill him!” He regrets that now.

“An' what's it matter if we do – one less elf to backtalk us!” The orc presses harder down and Elladan, for once, makes no motion to struggle whatsoever. Elrohir can tell from the tension in the fists at Elladan's sides though, that his brother still lives. Both peredhel are well aware of he precarious situation. The fact that Elladan remains so deathly still speaks volumes of the danger he is in and Elrohir simply stares in silence, waiting and praying for the moment it lets his brother up, doing nothing to risk the balance of the moment.

“If this _elf!”_ snaps the orc stepping on the back of Elladan's head, leaning forward slightly and pressing even more weight down onto his skull, “says _one more word_ out of turn, I'll cut 'is tongue right out of 'is head!” It snarls, followed by the immediate cheers and jeers of the yrch behind him, who seem equally fed up with Elladan's taunts. “You got that?” It jeers. Elrohir stares at it, unsure if he should answer or not, so he simply nods. Seemingly unsatisfied, the orc steps back off of Elladan and lifts him into a kneeling position by his hair – now cut just below his ears – and repeats “I asked if y' _got that.”_

Elladan opens his mouth with a bitter scowl on his face, before shutting it again uncertain. He swallows and nods in silence, glaring darkly.

Satisfied, the orc releases his hair, and the entire camp seems lighter. The yrch seem almost jovial as they retie his wrists and leave him tied beside his brother, apparently finished with him for the day. All leave, that is, except for the one who remains watching silently from behind Elrohir.

The one still standing behind Elrohir continues to watch him suspiciously, but it seems smug now as it slinks towards him, pleased to see him cowed. “Not so big now, hah, _elf?_ ” It jeers at him. _“_ Not when y'don't got yer words no more. Y' don't got nothing! Y'know what we're gonna do with y', elf?” It asked, slinking closer. “Eat ye, we are. But I reckon boss won't mind if I take a taste – not with all the tastin' you've been doin' of us!” It laughs loudly at it's own joke and pulls out a short, sharp, curved knife.

The knife is unclean – crusted with blood, fat, grease, and who knew what other substances, looking as though it had not been cleaned properly even once since the day it had been made, and Elladan recoils more from the idea of being stabbed with _that_ then the idea of being stabbed, as the orc begins to circle around him. Elrohir watches warily, hoping to find some way to distract the orc, or at least warn Elladan when it's about to –

But the orc strikes with no warning, one moment circling, and the next moment the blade is in Elladan's shoulder, causing Elrohir and Elladan both to hiss, one in pain and one in empathy, though Elladan otherwise keeps silent and says nothing.

Elrohir watches in horror, thinking of the orc's promise to 'take a taste', and can only hope it does not mean to carve a piece of Elladan's flesh from his back. Not here, not now, not in front of Elrohir, and certainly – _not to eat._ Elrohir and Elladan, sharing that identical thought, make eye contact and swear to each other not to break it if it is so.

Thankfully though, that does not seem to be it's intention. However – _however_ ... It pulls it's knife from his back and bites into him, pulling open the fresh knife wound and sinking it's rotted teeth deep into the wound. Elladan can _feel it's teeth,_ sharp, stinking, and uneven, biting into the jagged edges, the flesh of his own back, as it's hands grip either shoulder to hold him in place.

Elladan is not sure how he appears in that moment as he looks into Elrohir's eyes, grateful that they were sat facing each other. For if he did not have that eye contact, he would not be able to stop himself from whimpering as he feel's the creature's tongue enter the bleeding wound on his back. His complexion chalk white, Elrohir has never seen Elladan with such a look of shocked horror, but that is the look he wears as the orc clings to his back, gnawing and _slurping_ blood from his wound.

With his hands tied behind his back, Elladan can do nothing to shake the orc from his back, but that does not stop him from trying as the shock is overpowered by the quickly growing repulsion. With a burst of furious adrenaline he tries to leap to his feet, but finds the orc behind him has anticipated this. The orc pulls him quickly backwards, throwing him off balance as it reaches around from his shoulder, surprising him with the knife from before and holding it under his jaw.

“Is the elf jealous?” The orc coos solicitously. “Does the elf want a taste?” It grins behind him as it lets go of his shoulder with it's other hand. A moment later, the entire hand is shoved deeply into his shoulder wound, causing him to cry out wordlessly, a sharp sound that echoes through the camp. His eyes are shut, hearing Elrohir cry out alongside him and not wanting to see his pain mirrored in his brother's eyes. It allows it's hand to linger there, inside the wound, moving it's fingers slowly, dragging them across muscle, tendon, nerve, parts of his body that should never have been opened, never have been _touched,_ before slowly dragging it out, allowing the half elven blood to drip slowly down it's hand as it walks to stand in front of Elladan, allowing his blood to pool within it's hand. “It wants some?” The orc laughs, waving it's hand in front of Elladan's mouth.

Elladan turns his face away in disgust, trying to shut out the coppery scent of his own blood filling his senses by focusing on the fire in his back, causing nausea to rise in his empty stomach.

“Not so quick to bite now, is it?” The orc laughs as it continues to taunt him with the bloodied hand. “Drink!” It calls. “ _Drink!”_ It is hissing now, thrusting it's other hand forward to grip Elladan's jaw and force it open. He makes a choked sound of protest shakes his head, trying to twist away as the orc tips it's hand back, spilling Elladan's blood down into his own throat. Elladan emits a frantic whimper of denial and begins coughing before managing to spit it back up. Most of it ends up on his own chin and lower lip. He snarls at the orc, wild eyed as it comes at him again.

“Stop!” Elrohir pleads, shamelessly. “Stop it, leave him alone!” He barely stops himself short of saying _please_ , but it is evident regardless in his desperate tone.

The orc turns to look down at him, both literally and figuratively. “This elf begs now?” It asks curiously.

“Yes!” Elrohir agrees without hesitation. “Just leave him alone.”

The orc laughs, a sound near enough to a giggle if not for sounding as though it had just eaten a bowl of pea gravel, finding him amusing. It may sting Elrohir's pride to beg, but his pride matters little when the orc steps away from his brother. “Say it, elf! Say that you beg from me!”

“I–” Elrohir can see Elladan, already regaining his wits, staring at him in alarm and disapproval. Of course he does not approve of Elrohir begging an orc for his safety. No matter. Elrohir is a grown elf, free to make his own choices. And today he is choosing to beg an orc to leave Elladan alone. Whether Elladan likes it or not. “I am begging you. Leave him alone.”

The orc claps it's hands, clearly enjoying itself, before grinning a toothy grin. “No!” It announces, as if delivering the punchline to a joke. In a way, it is.

Elrohir stares in disbelief.

The orc turns back to Elladan and claws at his back, digging it's fingers in, _scooping_ and _scraping_ , taking pieces of him out, causing the elf to tense and to shake, to clench his teeth and to shudder. He does not scream again, but Elrohir is keenly aware of the silent tears rolling down his brother's face.

Elrohir has rarely seen his brother cry. But to cry in the presence of yrch, this is the first. He knows not how to make it stop. He would do anything. _Anything._ He needs to protect Elladan.

The orc stands before Elladan now, and Elladan trembles as the orc grips his jaw again, shaking his head side to side. Elladan nearly frantic with... _panic._ That's what it is.

He opens his mouth – not to drink – to speak. Elrohir realizes he is going to beg. Elrohir cannot allow it, because Elladan will never forgive himself once he does. Especially since it will not work.

“Wait!” Elrohir calls a second time. “ _Please_ , wait. I'll do it.” He announces. Both the orc and Elladan freeze and stare at him, one in intrigue and one in horror. “I will do it and you will leave him alone!”

 _“No!”_ Elladan wheezes, but it comes out as a breathless whine as the orc comes forward to Elrohir, towering over him.

“Elves are a funny lot.” It decides. “Ye'll both be dead by morning. So why's it matter?” It looks between the two. “When ya'll both be et by morning?” It hums. “Y' want to drink yer brothers blood?” It asks down at Elrohir, bemused.

Elorhir shudders, the answer an obvious _no,_ but after a long moment he realizes that the orc is waiting for an _answer_ , and that he... he needs to _say_ something to follow through on this. “I – yes.” He states flatly. “ _If_ , you'll leave him alone.” He says, staring calmly at Elladan, who in turn is shaking his head aggressively at him.

The orc laughs still. “See! A funny lot!” It grabs his unbraided hair and yanks his head backwards unceremoniously – no warning _no warning!_ There is copper – iron – _blood_ – Elladan's blood – thick, and warm, but not hot – it has been sitting it the cold air, in the orc's greasy hand, for too long. But still warm, fresh from the body, _Elladan's body_ , and it has the vivid _tang of metal and battle._ Now it is in the back of his throat, and he wants to gag, but he can not breathe, not with his head forced backward. He has no option but to swallow, swallow – how much – _how much is there_ he is choking on Elladan's blood. And then he is released and gasping for air, eyes wild, blood on his lips, in his mouth, in his throat, _in his stomach_ , in his nose. And still the orc stands there, holding up it's bloody hand.

“Finish it,” It says, but there is no more blood, what does it want from him? But it holds out it's hand, and he is going to retch, he is _going to_. There is a strip of flesh, from his brothers back, and he shakes his head. He can't. He _can't._ But if he doesn't – if he doesn't, then Elladan will have to. He stills and looks up at the orc.

It seems to understand because it grins at him – it is pleased, _so_ pleased, as it places that raw flesh – _Elladan's_ flesh – in his mouth, and watches him struggle with it. He looks only at the ground, unable to look at his brother during this. Unwilling to know what Elladan must be thinking of him right now. Unwilling to think of his brother, across from him, as he is struggling to swallow raw and bloody meat from a knife wound in that very brother's back.

Elrohir can now feel his own tears falling, as he falls apart under the force of his silent tremors. He is not aware of when they began, but as he finally manages to clear his mouth of that vile piece of – of... it cannot be vile when it is his beloved brother, but it is a vile thing he has done – he is aware that they have consumed him, as he folds in two around himself. It is good that he is tied upright by his wrists, for he would otherwise be unable to support himself at all under the crushing weight of his guilt. But at least, Elladan is safe now, he thinks, as the orc laughingly leaves them and goes to rest.

At least Elladan is safe now, he tells himself deliriously.

They are mere feet apart, but tied as they are, they cannot touch. Elladan watches Elrohir, but Elrohir will not look up. He trembles in his bonds and stares down at the ground, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Elladan wants to reach out to him, but his wrists are firmly bound.

They believe they are alone. They believe they are safe. This is why when Elrohir still has not looked up at him, is only staring down at the ground shaking under silent tremors as tears continue to fall down his face, Elladan decides to speak.

“No matter what happens, ada will find us.” He whispers. His brother does not reply. “Oh, Elrohir.. Ro.”

Finally, Elrohir glances up. His mouth is still stained with Elladan's blood, for his hands are tied and he can not wipe it away. Even if he had been allowed to wash it out, he does not believe that he will ever stop tasting it. His face covered in tear tracks, his eyes appear swollen as he looks at his brother, barely able to make eye contact. He makes no attempt to hide the guilt there.

Elladan sighs and does not flinch away. “Ai, Elrohir. You needn't feel any shame.” He whispers softly. “What you did for me was a brave thing.”

Elrohir nods weakly, to show he has heard. “It did not feel brave.” He answers, looking back down. “It felt...” He trails off, unable to find an answer. “It felt...” He shakes his head slowly, paling and trembling as more tears come to him, and his breathing begins to quicken. He turns his head – the most he can manage, tied as he is, and throws up. He has not been fed in days, and so he has only stomach bile and fresh blood to throw up. Trapped in his sitting position, unable to kneel over or pull his hair back, most of it ends up on his own front.

Elrohir remains frozen and silent for a long, shocked moment before glancing sideways at Elladan, wearing a horrified expression. Elladan looks equally alarmed, but for differing reasons.

“Elrohir, it is alright-”

Elrohir begins to tremble anew, and bows his head deeply. Now wearing his shame twice over, he balls his hands into fists. “I want to go home.” He admits finally, afraid to look at his brother.

It has been so long since they have been home. Elrohir does not _want_ to sound like a child. He feels like a child, in this moment though. He does not want to see the look in Elladan's eyes, the frustrated, judgemental look. He does not want to feel foolish, or weak, for wanting to curl up with his _gwanur_ at home, in _ada's_ study, and just.... feel safe, for once. So he stares at the ground permeated with his brother's blood and weeps silently.

“Elrohir -”

Elrohir shakes his head in denial. Not just of Elladan's request, but in denial of all that had happened, and all that is.

“Elrohir, look at me.” Elladan's voice remains gentle, but he takes on a firm tone, prompting the distraught twin to finally raise his eyes. Meeting Elladan's, he finds that his self-proclaimed elder brother wore neither a frustrated nor judgemental expression. Rather, Elladan's eyes are pained, yet understanding. They soften even moreso as the two gazes meet. “I understand, _gwanur._ ” He murmurs gently. “And we will. We will go home.” He promises.

“Wha's this, then?” Comes the gutteral question from behind, startling both elves to jerk against their bonds and twist their heads to looks towards the voice. An orc is standing there, tapping a knife against it's open palm thoughtfully, gazing down at the two haggard elves. “Thought we said not to be talkin', didn't we?” It grins, stepping closer to Elladan, who glares up acidly. He despises the gleam in this orc's eyes, and the way it turns it's knife over and over again.

“Do not touch him, he did nothing wrong!” Elrohir argues desperately, but the orc walks past him with nary a glance.

“Broke rule, ought to be punished.” The orc reasons, grabbing Elladan's chin and jamming it's thumb and fingers hard into the sides of his jaws. For a wild moment Elladan fears it is forcing his mouth open, remembering the threat to cut out his tongue, and his heart races. The seconds ticked by in silence, and the orc does no such thing, simply staring down into his face. Contrary to relieving his stress, each moment of this only serves to heighten his anxiety as he is forced to wonder what is happening. In this position, he has no control over his situation, helpless to do anything but accept what comes next.

Finally, the orc raises the hand with the knife until the point – which likely gleamed at one point in time, but is now dulled from many years of ill use – hovers mere inches from his face. “Such pretty eyes.” It mutters, sounding far away. “Be a shame if somethin' were to happen to one.” It hums as the point of the blade comes to rest atop his cheekbone, at the bottom of his eye socket.

Unable to help himself, Elladan jerks backwards. The knife filling his vision, and knows that with one push, it wil be sent all the way through his eye. He is aware of Elrohir calling out; “No! No, _no!_ Leave him! Here, come _here!_ ”

 _“Elrohir! Just stay quiet!”_ Elladan shouts abruptly in Sindarin, drawing the attention of more yrch. _“Saes!”_

Elrohir shakes his head in denial, wishing to refuse, but he bites his tongue and does not argue. He knows that to do so now will only make things worse for both himself and his brother.

 _“No matter what happens, ada will find us.”_ Elrohir firmly whispers as fistfuls of Elladan's shortened hair are grabbed at and _cranked_ backwards, forcing his head up. Leaving his mouth parted slightly, and his entire neck uncomfortably exposed.

“We oughta cut 'is tongue out for disobeyin'!” Announces one orc who came to see what all the commotion was about, now staring with sharp interest at Elladan's throat.

“No!” Snaps the orc standing over Elladan. “I got 'ere first! I do what I want!” It snarls, pushing away the other orc as it begins to slink closer. This gets the crowd of them jeering at the possibility of a fight breaking out, and Elladan squirms against the claws in his hair.

However, the disturbance is short lived and Elladan's head is jerked backwards again with an extra hard yank, eliciting an annoyed hiss from the half elf. Elladan scowls acidly, though he can only aim it up towards the treeline from his current position. He shifts his glare to the orc standing over him as it reappears in his vision, moving to stand in front of him once more and grip his jaw firmly with one oversized hand. Elladan attempts to twist his head away, but between the two yrch, he finds he can not move.

He shifts his gaze back to Elrohir's bloodstained face, preferring to watch his brother rather than the grimy knife the orc was once again mocking him with. Elrohir stares on in horrified denial, shaking his head and repeating _“saes”_ over and over, though whether he speaks to Elladan, the yrch, himself, or the Valar, is a mystery. An irrelevant one in any case, with no answer forthcoming as the orc rests it's knife once more in the hollow of Elladan's eye, causing the peredhil to flinch away.

There is no warning. Between one breath to the next, the knife presses forward and Elladan jerks back, he and Elrohir keening as one. Elladan's howl tapers off into a long animalistic whine as his rigid body convulses against the foreign blade boring into his skull. He can not focus beyond the wet burn in his nerves as they are cut into with deliberate slowness. He does not know when he is released to fall forward into the hold of the very orc who is tormenting him. Neither is he aware as he releases a pitiful dry heaving sob, trembling unresponsively in it's grip, for all awareness has left him.

Elrohir struggles with all his strength against his restraints, crying out openly his brother's name over the visceral sound as the eye burst open and the rush of gore that follows as blood and clear liquids stream down Elladan's face. Elrohir feels Elladan's pain and shock through their bond, and he feels him slowly slipping away.

He screams for his twin, Elladan's blood dripping down his chin and his eyes wild as he curses and threatens in every language he knows. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses inward, struggling to call down words and Songs of Power, as taught by his father. However he be still too young, too unlearned, or too unskilled to do so. What he is though, is _motivated,_ and somehow despite the strength of the binding, tenacity wins over and with a final enraged cry, Elrohir staggers forward.

Three yrch rush him from behind immediately, but he has eyes only for his brother. One grabs his arm, and he breaks it's nose without a thought. It somehow keeps it's hold, allowing the other two to reach in as well and restrain the kicking and screaming peredhil.

It does not last long. The leading orc laughs to “let 'im go,” letting go of Elladan as it says so, allowing the barely conscious elf to fall to the ground. “I got what I wanted 'ere.” It says, turning to lean over Elrohir and holding up it's prize for the elf to see. Badly mutilated, the eye is still unmistakable. Elrohir's skin crawls as nausea ascending swiftly up from within.

Turning his head away, an involuntary whining rises from low in his throat. As his arms are released, he falls to the side and vomits in the dirt again, the taste of bile mixing with the sour taste of blood still in his mouth.

He would have lay there for a long, long time, has it not been for the fact that Elladan still has not moved since sprawling on the ground. Ignoring the yrch still looming above, Elrohir crawls his way through the dirt towards his brother. Defying expectations, the yrch merely laugh at the twins' expense before ambling away, moving to rejoin the others by the fire. They are left unbound, though not unwatched. Well aware of the many amused and mocking stares aimed at him and his brother from only a few yards away, Elrohir knows he can do nothing to escape with Elladan in this condition. He chooses to ignore the yrch, as Elladan is far more important.

“Elladan?” He whispers, hoping for a response but receiving none. He reaches out and turns his brother towards him, recoiling in horror at his first true look at the damage done to Elladan's face. The left eye _gone_ , but the socket not empty by any stretch.

Liquid still fills it, tinged pink. There are _pieces_ , floating, and loose flesh where the knifework had not been clean. Pieces of eye, left behind. And worse, the eyelid, half removed but hanging by a thread of skin, as thin or thinner than Elrohir's fingernail. It all needs to be removed, but Elrohir has no knife, no tools but his own hands.

“Elladan...” he repeats, testing. “Ella, please answer me.” He does not truly wish Elladan to be awake right now, but neither does he wish to be alone. The true reason he wants Elladan to answer is this; he can clearly see Elladan's other eye wide open, his brother still responding to touch. Clearly conscious, Elladan is deeply in shock. If Elrohir touches him now, he may easily slip so deeply into shock he could fade. But if Elrohir does nothing then infection may surely set in and kill him.

Left with no other options, Elrohir sets his hand over Elladan's remaining eye, and focuses all of his love through their bond whispering “Peace, brother. Sleep.” When he removes his hand, the eye is closed, and Elladan's breathing evens out somewhat, though his heart still beats erratically.

Satisfied that this is all he can ask for, Elrohir shuts his eyes, takes two deep inhales and exhales, and turns Elladan on his side, digging his fingers into his brothers empty eye socket. Elrohir shudders as he scoops out as much fluid, flesh, and debris, as he can from the wound. It is one thing to treat a patient, another to treat his brother. It does not help that this is the most gruesome wound he has _ever_ seen, and that _Elladan_ is the healer among them. Elrohir is a _cook_ first, and healer only by necessity.

Finally, he is as satisfied as he believes he ever can be in these circumstances, and looks at the eyelid. He does not believe it will be able to be repaired. He has nothing with which to remove it. He has heard that sometimes, these things will come off on their own if they are truly not going to heal, but he does not want it to come off into the empty socket. He debates within himself.

He lets out a shaky, uncertain breath. He knows he is not thinking straight, he is panicked, he is probably making a mistake, but he must do _something_ and so he simply does what seems best at the moment and decides he will not speak of it to Elladan or father, in case it was the wrong thing to do – and he takes the loose piece of skin and biting his lower lip, he _pulls._ And just like that, it comes off.

Elladan's eye opens. The cleaning did not wake him, but this did. It was not the pain, but Elrohir's inner panic and uncertainty, though Elrohir does not know that. He looks around, wildly, not understanding. “Rohir?” He calls, not seeing anything at first, only aware of the _pain_ , but Elrohir quickly comes into focus over him and he calms.

“I am here, right here. Do not move. I must bind your eye.”

“My eye?” Elladan seems near panic. “Why – what happened to my eye?”

Elrohir frowns, immediately concerned. “Do you not remember, Ella?”

Elladan begins to shake his head, but quickly aborts the motion as he discovers a devastating headache behind his eyes. “No – everything is a blur... Moving too fast, Roh. I need help.” He admits weakly, slurring as pain overtakes him.

A weight settles in Elrohir's gut as he rests one bloodied hand over Elladan's trembling own, where it rests limply on the ground. “We have been for the greater part of a week.” He begins.

“Yes.” Elladan murmurs, tremors running through his body from fingertip to foot. He makes no attempt to look to Elrohir, his eye glazed over and gazing sightlessly into the middle distance.

“Ai, Elladan.” Elrohir sighs as he rips a strip from the cleanest part of his tunic, wishing not for the first time he had access to water. He kneels behind Elladan, who immediately relaxes backwards into his lap, nearly falling asleep once more when he feels his twin pressed close against him.

“Elrohir, my eye...” he reaches up weakly as though to touch it, his hand stopping inches away, trembling. Elladan's entire body still trembles weakly, likely from stress, and now the trembling grows more violent. More noticeable.

“Yes, _gwanur_.” Elrohir soothes. Lying will serve no purpose. “It is not good. But you are awake now, and I am well. I will wrap it, and all will be well.” He speaks, keeping his voice carefully even for his brother's sake.

Elladan tenses but does not disagree. “Do what you must.” He concedes hoarsely, leaning further back into the safety of Elrohir's embrace as he feels his twin's hands come up around his face and begin to bind the bandage about his eyes. They sit in silence while Elladan listens to his own breathing, his unsteady heartbeat, and lets himself match it to the stronger heartbeat of his brother behind him. The long familiar practice gives him something to focus on, and helps to steady his mind and to calm his emotions.

By the time Elrohir finishes bandaging his face, Elladan has relaxed considerably, despite the pain still radiating from his head. He sits for a long moment, head lulled back against against his brother's shoulder as he takes in his familiar scent, too tired and worn down to do aught else. Eventually he lets his head fall to the side to rest against Elrohir's chest as he gathers the breath and will to speak.

“My face, Roh. What have they done to my face?” He whispers against his brother's chest with a sandpaper voice, and he can _feel_ his brother seize at the question. The chest that he rests on freezes as he receives a shock of pain and alarm from Elrohir over their unguarded bond at the unexpected question.

Elladan simply wants answers. He reaches his hand out and takes Elrohir's in his own, squeezing reassuringly. “How bad is it, Elrohir? How bad is my eye?” He croakes in gravelly voice, trying once more to reach and touch that horrible wound, sending so many unknown types of pain he can not make sense of them all. Feelings he has never before experienced.

Elrohir's hand grabs his wrist and draws it down into their shared lap, where he moves his grip to squeeze his hand tightly, drawing out his silence until Elladan believes he will not answer.

Finally though, Elrohir lays himself down in the dirt, pulling Elladan down alongside him. Unable to see with his bandaged face, Elladan allows Elrohir to lead him as his brother settles Elladan into the crook of his arm so that his head rested on Elrohir's chest. “I can not say how bad your eye is,” Elrohir states in a cool and detached tone that reflects his hidden fear as he pulls Elladan closer, protectively, “for I had only a brief moment to see it before it was taken.” He finishes matter of factly.

Elladan makes a strange noise at his side.

They lay quietly together for a few moments, neither sleeping, neither speaking.

“It is gone?” Elladan sounds very young, Elrohir reflects with a pang.

“It is. I cleaned the wound while you were sleeping.” Elrohir speaks in a far more detached manner then he intends to, but it matters little. Through their unfettered bond, they are both well aware of what the other is feeling.

Elladan says nothing as he stores this new information. He remains still, head on Elrohir's chest, hand curled in the front of Elrohir's tunic. With his eyes bandaged and breathing even, it would be easy to believe he had fallen asleep if Elrohir were not able to feel the frantic flurry of panic and determination warring with each other as his brother slips slowly into a state of despair beside him.

Elrohir turns over in the dirt so he is no longer on his back, but rather facing Elladan. Taking Elladan's hand's in his own, he tilts his forehead until it meets his brothers, and hums quietly, “All will be well, ada will come for us.”

Elladan relaxes at the closeness, but the reassurance does little for him. It is his well used reassurance for Elrohir, for he knows it is what Elrohir wishes for above all.

They have not seen adar in a very long time. They have not been home in far too long. Avoiding it, and more importantly, avoiding _him_ and all those who would pass judgement upon them. And perhaps now, it is too late to return.

“Ada will know where we are, and ada will come. He always has.” Elrohir repeated.

Elladan is still not convinced, harbouring doubts that Elrond would even desire to see him after some of their parting words. And after all, this is exactly what Elladan had craved for so long, a premature death at the hands of yrch, so perhaps Elrond would leave him to the fate he had wrought for himself.

This time, Elrohir does squeeze his hands too hard, deliberately. “Ada would never abandon us, _gwanur._ ” Aghast, his voice only holds a quiet sympathy. Not driven by pity, but by a deep sorrow and... in a way, understanding.

Elladan feels frustration and anger boiling under the surface, but is too tired and soul weary to put voice to it, for once. He simply sighs, ducking his head in defeat, and tucks his head under Elrohir's chin as he presses himself against his twin allowing Elrohir to pull him close and hum soothing nothing tones.

“Rest now.” Elrohir encourages gently. “Ada will come and all will be well. _Losta mae, tithen El nin.”_

Elladan releases a malcontent murmur, before finally relaxing completely into Elrohir's hold and whispering in return; _“Im mild, tithen Hir nin.”_

Elrohir waits until Elladan falls deeply into sleep before allowing fresh tears to fall.


End file.
